Dark Knight on the Wind
by In Christ Alone
Summary: A collection of drabbles, because I am getting rid of writer's block. Chapter 4: It had been a long day, and Gordon was ready to settle down with a good cup of coffee...but what was that racket?
1. A Different Dream

**A collection of drabbles, because...**

**Well, I am feeling drabble-ish. :)**

* * *

You always knew when Bruce was having a nightmare. He would repeat the same pattern: his right hand would start curling into a fist, he would groan slowly, and then start twitching. Words would _sometimes_ filter out, usually seeming from one of a much younger, more open, mind. Then the horror would break through. The sudden jerk, the cry of anguish- muted by the pillows and his own sleep- would then escalate into a tearless sob.

Selina would, per routine, ask him about it in the morning. He would shake his head as the raven black hair caught the sunlight streaming from the large windows. His eyes; those petrifying, entrancing turquoise that seemed to suck one in, would be clouded in nostalgia and regret. Then he would shrug saying 'Same old,' and swing out of bed energetically.

She never understood that.

The assumption was easy: he dreamed of his parents. but how did he... how did he _suppress_ it?

The world had come to expect the 'normal' Bruce Wayne- charismatic playboy, businessman extraordinaire. They had all forgotten who he was; what he had been through.

His parents death had shaped him. While men of lesser strength had risen from the ashes of such an event and made something of their lfe, free from anger, hate and most pain, he hadn't.

Why?

He was too early. He was thrust into the world of business, of coldness, of money, covered only with the well-pressed suit of lies.

He wasn't shown what he _could_ have _been_.

What could he have been?

He could have been anything: but he rose to become the Batman. Was that rising? Or falling?

She contemplated all of this as she curled closer into Bruce's shoulder, his scent- spice, and ocean, and a hint of rum- a remaining piece of his... _excursion_... into Cuba to question a drug dealer- filled her senses and comforting her array of thoughts. She slid a hand over his shoulder as he shifted, his face pressing into the cream colored pillow and his arms curled under his chest.

His hand started twitching.

She sighed and massaged the perpetual knot in his shoulder, hoping to comfort him...

Until she heard her name, uttered from those soft lips.

Her hand froze along his back as he shifted, pulling her into his chest. His words, whispered and slow, were still one of dreams, mentioning 'Selina' and maybe... 'Never leave' ?

She smiled and dug her nose into the side of his neck.

She didn't think this dream was like the rest.

* * *

**Eh? Have had the most major writer's block _ever_, and am trying to rid myself of it. Pray, people. Pray. :)**

**UPDATE! I have been told that Bruce has blue eyes. I thought so, but could not remember, so put 'brown' to coincide with the movies. Thank you, anonymous reviewer!  
**


	2. Hope Rises

The burnished light ran down the edges of the metal, as sharp as a blade, in thin, distinct lines that wrapped around the form of the bat. Gordon fingered the beveled edges lightly, his gloved finger feeling the steel cold through the thick material. The spotlight behind the sign had yet to be turned on, the glass pane dark and reflecting the cityscape behind him.

He huffed as his finger drew to the end of the tapered wing, and he spun about face to face the city. His boots scraped against the heavy coat of frost on the rooftop as he paced, his caramel hair spinning lazily about his wrinkled brow in the frigid wind.

He should switch the light on.

He needed to speak to the Batman, didn't he?

He grumbled as he ran a hand through his formerly neat, now thoroughly mussed hair.

When had he come to rely so much on the Batman?

It was... Sometimes... To be regretted, how far they had come. Police used to be respected. Needing no masked vigilante crutch. No... Man-dressed-as-a-bat.

A puff from the pipe in his other hand did nothing to prevent the scowl that overtook his features.

Why _should_ he need a man like that? Parading around in nought but... Spandex? Armor? (What _was_ that stuff, anyway?)

What ever happened to good ole detective skills?

Gordon sighed. The world had come so far from that... Now here he was, signaling a bat-man on a rooftop with a spotlight, to fight men and women dressed from clowns to plants to green question marks.

The fact that the light was even on this roof proved how the force had turned. How far they had dropped.

Or... Risen? Was this such a bad thing?

What if a man had risen from this? Batman. Surely he was a man somewhere, with problems and trials like the rest of us. (Probably more, actually. Really... _Something_ had to convince him to wear a frickan' _bat-suit._)

But...surely a man rose from this, right? There _must_ be a reason he does this.

Why couldn't Gotham rise with him?

Gordon thought for a moment, the smoke curling around his face, trailing into the view of the city. As the smoke rose into the dark expanse of the sky, he spun resolutely around.

He fingered a metal bulb, it's lines smooth and sophisticated, but with an underlying strength as if it had always belonged to this city.

The beam of light pierced the sky, it's strength standing resolutely amidst the stormy winter clouds.

Gordon smiled.

And he waited.


	3. City Lights

She sits on the cold brick, the small granules pricking her side through the thin yoga pants. The numbness from the cold had seeped along and up to her hips, and trailing up her wrists where her hand pressed against the edge of the building. A slight breeze rustled her red hair, throwing it into abstract curves through the night. Moon light seeped gently through the veil of clouds that sparsely dotted the otherwise clear night sky.

He would be out tonight. Flitting across rooftops, jumping from spires- doing his part in protecting this beloved city.

And she would be stuck here. Alone.

No one ever knew how she managed to get up here, onto her rooftop. Her father caught her, many times, sitting out here in the moonlight and staring into the suburbs. He never asked how, just nodded and continued walking, coffee cup in hand. He knew _why_. She didn't have to say anything.

Bruce would often land beside her at the end of his patrol. He wouldn't say a word. He would just stand there with his solemn presence and with a hand on her shoulder. A wordless gesture, memorial and tribute to her loss.

Her loss. That was all she ever thought of it as. Her _loss_. It was as if she never exactly _named_ it, it could be forgotten. But the name would come unbidden sometimes, enroaching upon her mind like a delicate parasite. And when it did steal into her mind and bring with it all those painful memories, she would come out here.

Which was kind of like a two-edged sword. Then, while she sat here, the memories of her former abilities would come for her with ferocious clarity.

_Her, jumping off the roof ledge, one daring foot at a time._

Now, she couldn't even twitch her foot.

_The bat-o-rang, catching on roof ledges like it was made to hoist her, there for her to fly._

Now she couldn't even stand up to throw one.

_The sharp twang, the tight pull, of the cord under her arm as momentum and inertia would carry her, soaring, across the city. Lights would gleam, cars would honk up at her._

A bat in the belfry.

A protector at home.

Now, she could only see those lights confined to a roof top. A solid surface. No twang, no sharp soreness of her shoulder when she wrapped it to tightly. None of that. It was gone.

And how she had dearly loved those lights.

So everyone gave her the silent pity. The silent loving. The silent pat of the shoulder to show that they still watched over her. And she loved it all. It was what she needed.

Though, the one person who would say something, was Nightwing.

"Sooooo, Babs. How's it goin' up here? "

She tore her gaze from the gothic architecture and onto the smiling face of Dick Grayson. His black hair, tousled from the night's run, swung oddly around his forehead, though still seeming to be oddly cute. City lights gleamed off the reflection of his mask until he pulled it up into his hairline, further musing it.

He flopped down beside her, legs dangling off the edge as one arm was propped on his knee to stare at her in mock contemplatively.

She merely smiled at him for a moment, pale eyes above equally pale skin compared to the night around them, contrasted by the red dusting of freckles on her cheeks.

Then she held out her arms in a silent prayer.

A smile stretched his face as he knelt beside her and scooped her up like a child, she wrapping her arms around his neck tightly and burying her head into his shoulder.

Neither said a word as they launched into the night air. Neither had to.

Barbara was busy enjoying the city lights again.

* * *

**Kinda inspired by "Blindess is Strength'... I do not remember who wrote it as auto correct has deleted it. So, I do apologize if there are any mistakes in this. I am sick, and auto correct is rrreeeeaallly annoying. Thanks!**

**(Really, y'all? I try to type 'auto' and it puts 'here auto fore' as one word-which isn't even a word- ...Really?)**


	4. It Was Stuck

The night had been a brutal one for The Gotham Police and the Dark Knight, with sixteen of their own dead and even more injured. The people had rallied as well as they could, and together they had finally captured Harley. She was to be escorted into Arkham (once again) after she was interrogated in the High Security wing of the Department HQ.

Gordon sank heavily into the metal folding chair, thrown haphazardly in the middle of the employee break room. The heavily worn mug of coffee was rested on his knee as he peeled the sticky- both with blood and sweat- elbow guards off. Next came the body armor, and then the boots.

And then, relaxation...

He spluttered as he tasted the coffee, all to sweetened and very much milked down. He pulled it from his lips and held it at a distance, much like how one would hold a viper, and glared at it as if it had personally offended him.

Gordon pulled his glasses farther down his nose as he stared down the styrofoam cup, and walked resolutely back to the empty lobby for a refill.

As his steps carried him further down the stark, dark hallways, he paused, ear cocked to the end of the corridor. A heavy, sharp banging echoed down the hallway, along with violent metallic shrieks of metal crashing on metal.

Gordon quietly placed his cup on the window pane of the office to his right, and pulled his police-issue gun from his hip. His steps carried him quietly down the rough tiled flooring, the evening light of the lobby getting brighter as he neared the corner.

The banging paused as he stood, poised at the corner, and then resumed, violently and strongly. It sounded as if something were being dragged and pummeled by something amazingly strong.

Was KillerCroc in the building?

The coffee room, as it was lovingly (and _ever_ so creatively) called, had been the previous employee break room, until the recent remodeling had been done, leaving this room out dated. However, they left the two vending machines and the coffee pots in there to save room, and now it was _still_ one of the most frequented rooms in the building. If Killer Croc _was_ in there, he would probably be along the far wall...

Gordon jumped around the corner with a roar, arms jutting out from his chest with the pistol in his grip, and fingering the trigger- until he was met with the sight of two widening, diamond white eyes.

Batman rose from his crouch, and, staring at him cooly for a moment, lifted a candy bar while hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Candy bar. It was stuck in the machine."

With that, he turned and strode through the small glass doors even as Gordon lowered the gun in bewilderment and adjusted his glasses with a hand.

"Oh...Okay." was all he said as he watched the last vestiges of the black cape swirl out of view through the door.

* * *

**Heh. Something lighter. Thought of this when watching a re-run of 'The Batman' episodes from... Sometime. Inspired by the one where batgirl and robin are munching on snacks from the vending machines in the prison, before being locked in and trying to prevent Black Mask from escaping. **

**Again, blame autocorrect for any problems in spelling. It is giving me problems. Love some reviews! **


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